Why no ode?
This would be also fast cleared up here:
If it was an ode
If I associated only again
„Ode to the sea“
your voice and
How many times then you always only you?!
Almost it already irritates me
And this is not at all miraculous.
"lines to the autumn“
and not possibly:
„Ode to the autumn“
This does not stamp itself in my heart too very much.
If branches bend
The last blossoms quickly to the earth float
If sheets also colour
And I do not call this injurious
Autumnal winds around house corners fly
If one may lie rather with the darling somewhere
Only not on the beach, in the sea
Also Surf would be injurious
If one could say
There should be people who venture this
And I am not squeamish - God knows-.
(Forgive for wrong association with surfing-...
What happened to you, one can entitle as amusing hardly.) I love this season
However, am not ready for every fun
Yes, sometimes I also love loneliness
Since then my heart escapes every time
How strangely this may also sound.
October time in 1964?
Of course I do not remember this
To me hurts only - now -
That YOU, my son, me apparently
Quite half and half forgets.
Do I forget, how was I at your age?
To say hard
Since I also forget of the days a lot
Because they mean to me nothing at all more
Never what have meant
Never again what will mean.
I forgive you every time - son -
And others can also not understand this.
You will delate my name
In a distant time
In on me wait of the riddles solutions
From their existence I know even today nothing...
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Meike Schrut. Published on e-Stories.org on 10.10.2009.